


Angleterre

by Konbini



Category: Good Omens (TV)
Genre: Bottom Aziraphale, Consent Issues, Crowley acts bastardly, M/M, Redemption, Smut, top crowley
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-21
Updated: 2020-11-21
Packaged: 2021-03-09 20:08:39
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 5,282
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27661820
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Konbini/pseuds/Konbini
Summary: 1793 - Aziraphale hadn't always been so cautious of loving Crowley. For the longest time Crowley excuses himself for the simple fact that he's a demon.After Armageddon, well, it has been a long time since Crowley has regretted it all.
Relationships: Aziraphale/Crowley (Good Omens)
Comments: 9
Kudos: 104





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Please mind the tags for issues of consent.

1793

Aziraphale is delicious. It goes without saying, really, but Crowley thinks it anyway.

Dressed like that. Like a courtesan's over-the-top re-imagining of what a prim and pure facade needs to look like in order to provoke a man to give it his best fucking.

Crowley is certainly provoked.

Less kindly, one could say Aziraphale is rather also dressed like a giant vanilla ice cream cone. Still, of course - always - delicious.

Dressed like that he's asking for trouble.

Crowley implies it but doesn't say it directly to Aziraphale's face, because he isn't mad.

Instead he lets Aziraphale lead him away by the arm - really, such a superfluous but engaging gesture - out into the filthy streets of Paris. Mud already caking their shoes in the first few steps. Aziraphale babbles on happily beside him.

Aziraphale is happy to see him. Crowley would even go as far as to say enthusiastically. It's...not out of character exactly but it's as if Aziraphale's sense of caution has been thrown to the wind. A byproduct of narrowly escaping death perhaps.

Something serpentine rears it's lizard brain at that. And Crowley grasps Aziraphale's elbow tightly as he steers him into the first creperie he sees. At the touch Aziraphale quiets and a pretty, ripe blush spreads over the angel's face.

"S-so you see I am quite glad that you came along." Aziraphale says with a touch of finality as if he's just finished a long speech- perhaps he has.

"Glad to be of servisssse, Angel." Crowley hisses seductively, a little tawdry . It's not a 'you're welcome' exactly.

After crepes, which has consisted of Aziraphale eating rather shyly for some odd reason and Crowley leering in his usual way, Aziraphale suggests something unexpected.

"I said - perhaps we could get a hotel room? I haven't got a place here. We could pick up some wine on the way?" Aziraphale says with a touch of hesitance but more surprising there is a little bit of hunger in his tone. A little desperate.

It causes Crowley to straighten.

It's probably nothing as Aziraphale is always too oblivious to his own manner. It drives Crowley crazy sometimes. But he's sure it's benefited all the cherub faced men he's shagged to within an inch of their life, at the very least.

"Yes." Crowley says, unsure of the wisdom of it even as his mouth quirks at one corner. "Let's get a room."

He says it like he means it the way other people would mean it because it pleases him, even if that's not what's actually happening.

Crowley is left to the small chaise while Aziraphale takes the armchair. The fire is warm and the bed looks inviting and if Crowley was here with anyone else the night would probably end another way.

As it is Aziraphale is toasted. In good spirits though. Charming even.

Crowley fantasizes idly about bending him over the chaise and making him moan.

"You'll always be welcome to come inside my shop." Aziraphale says, of his new book enterprise.

Crowley imagines stress on the word shop. That Aziraphale is intimating something else, something indecent. As much as Crowley does enjoy their time together, it makes him so very sexually frustrated. It's really his own fault for his uncontrollable imagination.

"Oh angel." He sighs, "I really must be off."

Crowley feels like he needs to find something to fuck. Now.

Aziraphale's face falls though and Crowley almost take it back. And then he does when Aziraphale says, quietly,

"Please don't leave yet. We've just...but it's still so early!"

It isn't early, not anymore, but Crowley doesn't point it out. In answer he holds out his empty cup and a wide, gorgeous smile comes over the angel's face. And Crowley wants to fuck that mouth, wants to feel that smile around his cock.

He sometimes wonders if all demons are as oversexed as him.

He resigns himself to endless frustration for the night. It isn't fair, the angel doesn't even know he's doing it.

"Take off your glasses, if you want." Aziraphale says, then hesitates, "...you can be yourself with me."

It's a disgustingly sweet gesture and Crowley would usually complain but instead he just slides them from his face. Aziraphale goes still, very serious, suddenly.

"What, angel?" Crowley says softly. A little fond but also a little irritated.

"For today..." Aziraphale begins, trying to gather words that are no doubt a way around the forbidden, 'thank you', "you're always there for me. Always...and I want you to know that I..."

And then Aziraphale stops, fidgets, before he crosses over to Crowley's chaise. Hovers near him, faces inches apart.

"Are you trying to kissss me angel?" Crowley says disdainful and amused. It's just...unexpected.

He doesn't actually expect a yes, but that's what he gets. It soon becomes apparent though that Aziraphale can't bring himself to actually follow through. He's waiting for Crowley to do that.

Heat lights in Crowley's belly and he closes the distance between them. Shoves his tongue straight into the angel's mouth. He kisses the life out of him for a good five minutes. But kisses are only a prelude to sex and Crowley is eager to find out how far the angel will let him go so he reluctantly pulls off.

Aziraphale's face is flushed and his expression is dazed.

"Oh Crowley." He says breathlessly.

Doesn't protest when Crowley gets up and steers them towards the bed, miracles their clothes away.

He's got a wet cunt between his legs. Crowley imagines him like this about half the time. He feels weak with lust. He's pretty sure he groans. Aziraphale responds with a whimper.

"I love you." Aziraphale breathes as Crowley presses their chests together.

"Yeah yeah." Crowley says in distraction.

Aziraphale likes to pretend he's so holy, that he can't just be eager for a good, hard fuck like the rest of them. It's irritating, a bit. But then Crowley focuses on his soft swells and pink hues and feels his irritation fade.

"You always take care of me." Aziraphale says, swaying into his touch.

"I'll take care of you now too." Crowley promises.

He does. Oh, he really does. Pumps his fingers into the sweet heat of the angel. Flicks the clit aggressively. Grabs at Aziraphale's ass and thumbs the tight ring of muscle there. He's been waiting thousands of years for this fuck.

Aziraphale is more or less eating it up. Making little bitten off noises and heavy little pants.

"Crowley." He moans.

Crowley wants it filthy. If he's going to fuck an angel, and he reminds himself it might only be the once, he wants it to match his filthiest fantasies. For all he knows it'll take another few millennia for his angel to get horny again.

He manhandles Aziraphale, turns him over and props him up on his hands and knees.

"Alright, angel?" he asks sedately. He'd never hurt him.

"Why...like this?" Aziraphale asks, turning and trying to meet his eyes.

Because it's hot, because I want to fuck you like a dog, because I want to degrade you just a little, because I can. All are valid answers but Crowley isn't sure they'd go over too well.

"Because you'll let me." He says instead.

Aziraphale is silent before he lets out a shaky breath.

"Okay." he says and laces his fingers into Crowley's that are spread out beside his on the bed.

Crowley's going to get what he wants. He's finally going to fuck sweet innocent little Aziraphale. It feels like a fantasy but for the warm flesh beneath him.

He prods at Aziraphale's ass deliberately before moving on to his target. His cock slips into the sopping wet with no resistance, all the way to the hilt. Aziraphale arches sharply, head thrown back, lets out a cry.

Crowley waits. His patience is rewarded when a few moments later Aziraphale rocks unsurely. Crowley imagines he'll have the angel slamming his ass back onto Crowley's cock in no time.

Even now, in the midst of it, Crowley's imagination doesn't rest.

And just like that his patience evaporates. He pounds deep - once, twice. Aziraphale moans weakly, rocks shallowly to try and accommodate Crowley's pace.

The fingers intertwined with Crowley's are tense and grasping.

"Crowley, love, please." Aziraphale begs.

And then Crowley can't seem to hold back anymore.

His thrusts, which begin to jackhammer, or his mouth. It rather begins to run Crowley's afraid.

"Look at you angel." Crowley coos, "tight little cunt stretched around my cock. Never imagined you'd let me do this to you. Let yourself be so disgraced. Like a common street whore. Bet you could have made it out of that prison just fine without me if you'd only decided to spread your legs."

Aziraphale doesn't respond to the words but he's making little choked off noises like he's about to come so Crowley indulges.

"Think heaven is watching us now? Watching you desperately trying to bounce yourself on my cock-" it was true, Aziraphale was rocking shakily back into Crowley, "while you finally reveal yourself as the little slut you are?"

Crowley came prematurely. Hadn't meant to. Had meant to fuck Aziraphale longer. Aziraphale, who hadn't even come as far as Crowley could tell.

He turned him over then. His carefully blank face made Crowley want to break it with expression. He buried his face between Aziraphale's legs and didn't even really have the chance to do anything before Aziraphale was coming with a wail, legs trembling with the force of it. Crowley crawled up the bed and sprawled next to Aziraphale.

Crowley was sated. He was sure it showed on his face. He'd finally gotten his cake and eaten it too.

"I thought you loved me." Aziraphale said, voice small.

Something haunted like around his eyes that Crowley didn't care for.

"What?" Crowley spit dumbly. "Don't be ridiculous."

Aziraphale didn't answer but he miracled their clothes back on, miracled them clean and immaculate.

"I have to go." He said, and that was the end of that.

Crowley told himself he shouldn't feel guilty. All his lovers were like that, always asking too much of him. Always saying they were fine with one thing when they really wanted another.

Humans could be excused for the mistake, but an angel really ought to have known better. Crowley was a demon. Excess and gluttony and lust were his thing.

It wasn't Crowley's fault.

Wasn't his fault that now he knew what the angel felt like gripped around his cock. Or how he sounded when he came. Or what was underneath his stuffy clothes.

It was the angel's own fault, really. For expecting something Crowley had no desire to give.

And it complicated things. Because Crowley really did like Aziraphale's company. Despite the frustration he cause it would have been better off if there had been no release.

Aziraphale is suspiciously absent for a couple of years.

Crowley's relieved when he finally turns up and there's no mention of Paris.

Things are as they were.

It takes him a considerably long time to notice the cautiousness with which Aziraphale regards any new intimacies between them. And that's because for the longest time he doesn't care to seek them out.


	2. Chapter 2

Things continued as they were on the surface. Crowley teased but Aziraphale's usual bit of flirt was a pale imitation of itself. Oh, he said all the right words but that spark - of connection, or recognition of one another - wasn't there.

Crowley was glad the angel didn't cling only about half the time, the other half he fantasized about how to seduce him back into his bed. Only that wouldn't do as it eventually led to thoughts of how they had left things. Crowley didn't like to think about it at all if he could help it.

Crowley first began to notice his lost privileges the next time they went out together. Before that it was all pleasantries and small temptations and Aziraphale acted like nothing had changed. Crowley was the fool who believed it.

It was a British pub and Crowley had suggested Aziraphale take in the particularly good bitter mild, although beer wasn't his usual. Aziraphale had acquiesced after a long, pregnant pause.

"Well, alright, dear boy." still prim and proper.

"You'll love it, angel, I swear. Your tongue has not tasted the like since before the Dark ages."

"Oh I doubt that." Aziraphale had chuffed softly, exasperated and fond but cautiously, cringingly.

Crowley had put a hand on Aziraphale's lower back to guide him through the door. He'd thought nothing of it and Aziraphale hadn't cringed away but it was jarringly noticeable that afterward he kept out of arm's reach. Crowley couldn't lay a hand on him without intentionally intruding on his space.

So utterly distracting was it - so utterly infuriating - that Crowley could focus on little else. He secretly sneered that Aziraphale was being self righteous, them being of different stock, until the thought of the last time they got close chastised him.

It really wasn't that he felt bad about it.

"Right, well, I really must be getting on."

"What? But we just got here." Crowley felt they'd been there less than twenty minutes but when he checked the waning daylight knew it had to have been much more than that.

He cringed when he thought back on Aziraphale's shockingly similar protest from That Night. Aziraphale himself had paled.

"Well," Crowley smoothed over, "I'll get the bill. My turn, isn't it?"

Aziraphale gave him a strange look.

"I've already paid Crowley, don't trouble yourself."

And that was another intimacy lost. The always took turns. Crowley tried not to look put out. He hadn't even had the wherewithal to enjoy Aziraphale's company. He'd wasted it.

"Right, yes, I'll see you around angel."

Aziraphale left, Crowley stayed and soaked in his own disappointment. He ended the night with a few new companions in his bed but it didn't raise his spirits.

Aziraphale seemed to dodge him for the next few years. Despite Crowley's previous supernatural ability to keep track of his nemesis.

So Crowley slept.

He dreamt of Aziraphale.

It wasn't like Aziraphale was the only constant in his life. Hastur, Ligur, loads of other demons he saw regularly should take precedence, really. But they didn't. Just like Eve he had tasted the forbidden fruit and been damned by it.

It was no longer an inkling of lust but more like a roaring need. He'd daydreamed long and loud about having the angel and thought not much of it when he had finally accomplished it - other than it had scratched a couple thousand year old itch.

But when he awoke he found his pillow was wet. He felt he could taste Aziraphale's disappointment.

Pearls among swine indeed.

After the devastation of finally acknowledging that he'd hurt Aziraphale he could think only of getting closer. Of somehow making it better.

That inevitably led to thoughts of what either of their sides might think. And do.

He needed insurance.

And he needed to tell Aziraphale that he was sorry.

Only.

Only when they met again and Crowley was contrite - perfectly contrite - he simply looked at Aziraphale - dripping hurt now that Crowley could see it clearly. And he couldn't do it.

He shouldn't do it.

There was something new, something possessive and ugly that rose in him but the concern he had for Aziraphale pushed it down.

He'd debased him and enjoyed it and the only thing that had changed was that Crowley's mind had taken a moment to step outside of itself and force him to acknowledge what he'd done.

I thought you loved me.

So small, so very hurt. It still lingered behind Aziraphale's smile.

Crowley had been a fool to believe that Aziraphale was slowly becoming more like him. To think that the angel would engage in casual sex was almost preposterous and Crowley's own wilful ignorance of the situation now made him ashamed of himself.

Because Crowley had wanted. Desperately. Because he had finally had it within his grasp he'd devoured Aziraphale like a treat that might be ripped away at any moment.

Crowley had always been too carnal.

Aziraphale was hedonistic maybe but there'd always been the upmost reservation on his part to even discuss such matters of that nature.

Aziraphale had been giving himself to Crowley and Crowley had taken the parts he wanted, bloodied when separated from the whole.

The regret was very real.

He almost asked for the holy water that day, but decided it could wait a little longer. He didn't want to see Aziraphale upset.

At least his angel must have someone other than Crowley, other angels who must adore him as Crowley did, to keep him company and treat him well.

It didn't mean Crowley didn't feel his own inadequate response to the situation.

From then on Crowley couldn't do enough.

He spoiled the angel with baskets of exotic fruits, with new pastries and wines. With rare books and happenings which were just on this side of miraculous if you squinted.

Aziraphale relaxed, tried to reciprocate even, but he never again became as unguarded as he had been.

Crowley doted on him and their relationship changed, got a little better the further they got from That Night. That worried Crowley, a little. He wanted a second chance but he couldn't exactly ask for one yet. Not when he had no way to keep himself from being permanently discorporated.

Aziraphale might get a nasty memo but Crowley had much worse things to face.

So Crowley asked him for the holy water.

It went about as well as expected. What Crowley hadn't anticipated were his own nasty words. About finding someone else to fraternize with.

So it really didn't go as expected.

Which is to say they didn't see each other for about a hundred years and it drove Crowley to distraction. Made an uncomfortably heavy guilt sit tightly in his gut.

He kept much better track of Aziraphale this time around.

He said sorry with three dead nazis, one destroyed church and a bundle of books.

It's after Aziraphale gives him the holy water that Crowley begins to properly make a plan for them. At this point he plans by the decade. He wants to take it slow, slowly declare his feelings and persuade Aziraphale to a courtship that will last centuries before again taking that last step together.

It isn't lost on him that it's basically a rehash of their past up until That Night. That Aziraphale had thought they were having a slow courtship - must have - before the leap of faith he took.

The difference is Crowley isn't going to screw up this time.

He's going to treasure Aziraphale the way he deserves to be treasured. He's going to wear down Aziraphale's recalcitrance and show him that he can be trusted.

He's only still planning when he gets the call and he realizes, he doesn't have as much time as he thought.


	3. Chapter 3

The night after the Apocalypse

"You can stay at my place, if you like."

The invitation was tentative but weighted, Crowley almost seeming to shrug it off casually. Aziraphale wasn't sure what the expression on his face showed, whatever it was he couldn't control the reaction.

It wasn't that his bookshop was gone, it wasn't that everything had changed - although it had.

'Their side' Aziraphale thought in despair, something twinging in his heart.

He had to deliberately remind himself that Crowley, despite appearances, would still stick around even without...sex. He'd proven that.

It had been Aziraphale's mistake to think Crowley thought more of sex than just a way to have fun.

And Crowley could certainly have fun without him.

If anything Aziraphale was a hinder.

But the invitation was...

Aziraphale had never been to Crowley's. Was almost surprised at the suggested intimacy.

They were friends though. Aziraphale had that at least. And Crowley hadn't made sex a stipulation exactly although the invitation seemed to imply it.

Aziraphale of course wouldn't do it. Couldn't do. It was too painful to even think about it. The one time he had had gone so wrong - but how could he have ever thought Crowley wanted him really?

It was Aziraphale's mistake.

Aziraphale didn't mean to say yes, but then they were on the bus, and then they were in London, and then they were in front of Crowley's flat and through the door.

It was magnificently cold, starkly pretty. Untouchable. Aziraphale felt glaringly out of place.

"Well, how do you like it Angel?" Crowley asked, taking his coat.

"Oh, it's beautiful." Aziraphale said, awkwardly toeing off his shoes. Crowley stomped in with his.

A statue in the foyer brought Aziraphale up short and he stared. An angel and a demon, locked in an embrace. Aziraphale swallowed thickly. No, not an embrace - they were fighting. And - more than just an angel the figure was beautiful and chiselled in a way Aziraphale never would be. The demon was nearly as breathtaking as Crowley himself.

It wouldn't do to dwell on it. When Aziraphale turned away he realized Crowley had been watching him and that he'd stared a lot longer than he'd meant to or what was decent.

Aziraphale felt his cheeks flush with a sudden heat. Crowley looked at him pointedly and Aziraphale felt shame flood him.

"Would you like a drink?" Crowley asked, thankfully ending the awkward moment.

Aziraphale nodded and followed him into the living room. Crowley miracled another chair. This one comfy looking, although the plush and velvety garnet made Aziraphale think of blood.

"I think Agnes meant for us to switch bodies." Aziraphale said without preamble.

Crowley looked conflicted for a second, as if he wasn't sure how he was going to respond. It put Aziraphale on edge.

"It wouldn't be the first time I was inside of you." The words should have been instantaneously humiliating but Crowley said them with such a croak in his voice, such an imitation of pain, that it quelled Aziraphale's shame momentarily.

He didn't know what to say to that. It must have shown because Crowley backtracked, impassioned.

"I know we've never talked about it Angel, but we need to talk about it." said like a man truly running out of time.

"We haven't needed to talk about it. Surely we'd have done it before Armageddon if we really needed to."

"I was worried about your life then. I thought, once that was solved it'd be over. I'm realizing now that it might not ever be over. You'll always be in danger and there will never be a good time to..."

'...do that again' is what Aziraphale was expecting Crowley to say, in more vulgar terms.

"Oh Crowley," Aziraphale said, wishing to cover his face, the humiliation now coming in full force, "You must understand I can't do that again. I...I am very ashamed of what happened, of myself."

The last part was said quietly. It hurt Crowley to hear it but he had suspected it for some time now. He felt desperate. How could he have thrown Aziraphale away so easily? He didn't understand it himself. He loved him, desperately, with his whole being. How could Aziraphale ever believe him now though?

"There wasn't a moment that I realized." Crowley began, "I fantasized about you. Oh did I fantasize about you -"

"Please stop Crowley, I can't hear this."

There were other reasons that Aziraphale was afraid to hear it. More than Crowley, Aziraphale feared himself. Because he did still love Crowley, would never stop - seemed like. And being in his embrace...for moments even. It tempted Aziraphale more than he could bear to say.

But he remembered what came afterward. The terrible price of it and he wasn't sure he could survive that again. And hadn't they just gotten to a good place?

Crowley looked afraid to continue, but words burst from his mouth anyway.

"Shouldn't be ashamed, not your fault angel."

"I wish we'd stop talking about it Crowley." Aziraphale tried, but if anything Crowley just looked even more serious, "I never meant to be like that. That isn't me. I'm not - "

Aziraphale couldn't continue.

"Of course not angel." Crowley was so calm about it.

"Right. Well, you needn't spend what might be your last night with me. There are more worthy beings." Aziraphale said in what he hoped was a flippant and light manner.

"What do you mean by that?" Crowley asked sharply. He already knew.

"Oh, just, you know. Someone better. For, um, whatever."

"You mean sex." The words were bitten out.

Aziraphale made some kind of helpless gesture.

"I don't like you talking about yourself that way." Crowley warned, a little breathless. What did Aziraphale mean? Someone Better? He hadn't seen that coming. That Aziraphale would feel...inadequate? unlovable? not good enough? not valuable? because of Crowley's own actions.

Aziraphale looked out of sorts at the comment.

"I'm surprised you even remember it at all." Aziraphale said defensively. "It was a long time ago. Hardly a memorable night."

Even Crowley could hear the For you unspoken at the end and cringed.

"I remember ever second." Crowley said instead. "Every flutter of your eyelashes, every sigh, the way you looked when you told me that you thought that I loved you."

And that was it. Aziraphale was out of his chair, looking pale.

"Could see all that could you?" Aziraphale said strangely shuttered, "I'm surprised you could see anything at all what with me facing the headboard. I rather thought afterwards you'd done it on purpose so you wouldn't have to see what you were actually touching."

Pain slithered through Crowley's heart at the words, which were a shock. Crowley had always maintained that Aziraphale felt himself superior, that he looked upon Crowley as lower than himself. That he was biased. But of course if Crowley had thought rationally about it at all he would have realized that couldn't be the case. Should have taken into account his own feelings of inferiority.

"Oh this is ugly Crowley," Aziraphale continued when Crowley didn't respond, "I don't like being at odds with you like this."

If Crowley said he loved Aziraphale now, Aziraphale wouldn't believe him. Crowley was positive of it.

"I love you." Said against his better judgement.

Aziraphale's face shuts down. He's protecting himself, like that time... Crowley closes his eyes in dismay. He's made a mistake. It's too soon. Hits as insincere.

"We should switch tonight. We don't know when they'll be coming for us." Aziraphale says, voice trying hard for neutral.

It's hard, but Crowley lets it drop. Slowly, he opens his eyes.

He hesitates to even think it but Crowley has faith he'll be able to get another chance with Aziraphale. He has to. They've come this far.

Aziraphale visibly deflates in relief when Crowley continues Aziraphale's redirection.

"Right. What should I expect from you lot?" Crowley drawls unconcerned, trying to get some illusion of his good humor back, "a spanking or a good old lecture on how you ought not to actually be a perfect angel?"

Aziraphale doesn't respond to it. Is stiff and stressy.

"They'll probably kill me, try to anyway. If Agnes is advising us to switch it's likely that they'll use means that the other will be equipped in surviving. I'm thinking hellfire and holy water."

Kill? Surely Aziraphale is being a little melodramatic.

"Yes, so if they try to 'kill' you after the trial no doubt there'll be a riot from your friends and so on and I can use the distraction-"

Aziraphale gives Crowley a stern, confused sort of look.

"You can't be reckless about this Crowley. They mean to kill me. And you're going to be in my place which means they will be trying to kill you. There will be no trial. No distractions to count upon. No friends."

"Right." Crowley says in disbelief, spirits still low, "like no one loves you enough to protest."

Aziraphale's face looks troubled at the words.

"They..." Aziraphale gets out, voice small, "they have been waiting for an opportunity to get rid of me for a very long time. I am not...well received up there."

Aziraphale looks downtrodden enough that Crowley almost believes it. But it just...can't be true.

"Surely a trial..." he begins, but Aziraphale just shakes his head in the negative.

Crowley feels sick. Like the rug has been pulled from under him.

"So...I am to expect a trial? And then, holy water?" Aziraphale continues, obvious to Crowley's turmoil.

Crowley can only nod. Aziraphale isn't foolish enough to ask about friends.

They get it done.

Even being forewarned Crowley is horrified by the treatment Aziraphale receives. The blind hatred of his kin. The way they toss Aziraphale away like he's nothing to them.

Aziraphale is everything.

He doesn't know how to tell him. Prays, despite himself, that this time he will get it right.

They meet up in Berkeley Square. And Crowley keeps it casual and light. Doesn't show what he's feeling. They have dinner at the Ritz to celebrate.

"I am glad the bookshop is alright." Aziraphale is saying but Crowley can't concentrate.

"Angel," he begins, interrupting Aziraphale's familiar cozy babbling, "I asked you to run away with me. What did you think that was about?"

"Oh, Alpha Centauri..." there Aziraphale looks unsure, "I am sorry. I would have went. If it really came to that."

Crowley is surprised.

"Would you have?" He asks, despite it not being the point.

"Of course. I'd love to see what you built."

Crowley's heart swells a little.

"But what did you think that was about? me asking?" Crowley reiterates, to get the conversation back on track.

Aziraphale frowns, fidgets.

"I'm sure I don't know. But I like to think it's because we're friends." He says, brushing it off easily.

"You mean more to me than anything."

"Well, of course I feel the same Crowley-"

"I want a second chance."

Aziraphale looks distinctly uncomfortable.

"Second chance at what?" Aziraphale asks quietly.

"You know what." Crowley shoots back.

"I...won't survive it."

"It...won't be like before. I promise." Crowley pours all the sincerity he can into it.

Aziraphale trembles but eventually he nods miserably.

"Okay Crowley." He says and he sounds wrong, defeated.

Crowley can change that, can do better. So he doesn't let it deter him, doesn't let it bother him either.

His steps are light and springy when they leave. He takes hold of Aziraphale's hand when they get in the Bentley, revels in the warmth of it. He kisses the back of it but Aziraphale only looks at him uneasily.

It's only when he pulls up to the bookshop that he gets any reaction at all from Aziraphale.

Aziraphale looks up at where they are and his gaze snaps to Crowley. Then his eyes are filling with tears and Crowley is at a loss to why.

"You brought me home." Aziraphale says between little sobs.

"Yes, angel, what's wrong?" Crowley is befuddled, alarmed.

Aziraphale just continues to sob helplessly into his coat sleeves.

"Most unbecoming of me," he says through it all, "very sorry my dear boy."

"Aziraphale." Crowley says seriously, fearful now.

"It's just...nevermind." Aziraphale says, tears petering off. Which is of course when Crowley gets it.

His face falls as he sits back in his seat. Aziraphale had thought Crowley had only wanted to use him again. And Crowley deserved his doubt.

"Do you really love me?" Aziraphale asks and he's listening, now.

Wet eyes fixed on Crowley's. So Crowley's careful to enunciate when he says it, so there's not chance of it being misconstrued.

"More than even the world."


End file.
